Close Every Door
by Helene Gaspard
Summary: "Close every door to me, keep those I love from me..." Songfic.


_A/N: This songfic was written between the hours of eleven o'clock PM and two o'clock AM for about a week and a half. Blame my lack of sleep for anything that doesn't make sense. And, um, shout-outs to all of you wonderful people who reviewed/favourited/ADDED TO A COMMUNITY (!) something of mine!_

**Song: Close Every Door from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (some lyrics edited for fandom coherency)**

**Main Focus: the Doctor**

He stared at the door for a moment, chest heaving as he held back the emotions building within him. She was gone, just like that. How many had he lost now, how many had he killed? How many people he loved had he sent to their deaths just like this?

"I'll see you soon, right?" she'd smiled as she waved goodbye, swishing that dress around her ankles impatiently.

The lump in his throat made his smile taut. "Yeah."

But he wouldn't see her again. And he had just condemned her to die, to give up her life for him.

She'd never again laugh, never toss her curls and give him that mischievous little grin, never kiss him when he wasn't expecting it, never be there to remind him not all archaeologists were idiots. She'd never collapse into their bed again, worn out from running with him all day. She'd never tuck her head under his chin, never cry in her sleep, never hold him close to make the nightmares go away.

Because she would be gone, in a place he couldn't reach.

The TARDIS made a little noise, and he felt something wet on his cheeks. A sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "You're crying too, aren't you, old girl?" Turning away from the door, he closed his eyes. "We… we can always go back to Stormcage and find her again there, can't we?"

He'd already taken so much of her time.

But one more visit, every so often, couldn't hurt any more than losing her did.

_Close every door to me_

_Hide all the world from me_

She looked up, dropping the diary and leaping to her feet when she heard that old familiar sound. The guard walking by twisted to search for the source of the sound. "That's for me, thank you very much." With a smile, she pulled the man close enough to plant a kiss on the side of his mouth. The guard staggered away, dazed.

Then he was there, and he was holding her tightly, and she thought he might even be crying. Her Doctor, crying?

"You've only been away twenty-four hours," she scolded lightly, but she knew full well he could be coming from any point in anywhere. For all she knew, he could have just escaped some prison of his own.

"River." He spoke into her chaos of curls, muffling his voice. "Come away with me. You don't have to come back here. You can stay with me…"

She wriggled away and gave him a look. "You know I can't do that. What if it threw off our timestreams? Besides." With a smile and a light shove, she tipped her head to the side. "You know where to find me this way."

"Every night, then. I won't be late if you won't." His dark green eyes were so serious, so intense that she wondered what had happened to darken his usually cheerful smile.

"Every night. That sounds promising. You don't give a girl much time to get ready for a date, do you?" she teased, closing the door to her cell back behind her. "Don't sonic it just yet. We can come back to this moment and they'll never know."

He gave her a smile. So sad, so very, very sad. Why was he so sad? "River Song, they'll always know. But they can't stop us, can they?"

She grinned up at him and took his hand. "Never."

_Darken my daytime_

_And torture my nights_

Every night. Twenty-four hours for her. Less than ten minutes for him, just long enough to put on a new outfit to make her laugh. He was hungrily absorbing every moment he could.

He didn't know how much longer he could do this before he broke down.

When he opened the TARDIS door for the eighth time, a smile on his face and his hearts beating faster than normal, she wasn't there. And his smile slowly dropped from his lips.

The sound of his feet hitting the floor rang off the walls, a cold, metallic sound. Other prisoners looked up as he sprinted by, but he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He threw open the doors at the heart of the building. "_Where is she?_"

The conference of jailers and legislative officials started. The old man at the head of the table sighed and rubbed his temples. "We don't know everything. Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter. Tell me what you've done with River Song, or so help me –"

"She's escaped," the old man interrupted. "Again. And she isn't supposed to receive visitors. Phone calls are the limit, and we're thinking of revoking those privileges what with the last time she got one. Do you realize how hard it is to find guards who are willing to put up with a murderous psychopath giggling like a schoolgirl because some man called to say hello?"

"Escaped," he said, wilting. She'd run off without him? "Who calls?"

"Who are you?" demanded the man.

"I told you, that doesn't matter –"

"An associate of Dr. Song," one woman said without looking up from her rapid typing. "He was probably hoping to assist in a jailbreak. I don't know why we even hold these council meetings about her anymore. She always comes back."

"But why?" the old man growled. He banged a fist on the desk. "That's what we're analyzing. Get this man out of here; throw him in a spare cell or something."

"Oh, you don't want to do that! I'm wearing a new suit," he protested, and he turned and ran. He could call her. He could call her, and then even when he couldn't see her, couldn't touch her anymore, he could hear her voice, make her laugh, tell her he loved her.

"Hullo, what's this? You dropped me off just so you could change?"

He spun around to see her, hands on her hips and head cocked skeptically. She raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, don't tell me you really left just to put on a suit. The toga was perfectly lovely," she winked at him, threading her fingers through his.

He tried not to let his eyes wander. "So's yours."

Her eyebrows shot up for a moment, and then she threw her head back and laughed. That sound… he couldn't remember anything better. "Well then, is it my turn to show you around?" She tugged him down the hall, slipping back inside her cell.

"What are you doing that for?" He balked, holding onto her wrist to keep her from sitting down.

Her eyes turned curiously to him. "We only just got back. I do need to sleep sometimes, Sweetie; not all of us are full Time Lords like you. You can stay if you'd like," she teased. "So long as we don't wake the neighbours."

With a grin, he stepped inside and swung his sonic at the door to lock it behind him. "Dr. Song, you bad, bad girl! I don't think that counts as sleep."

"Mmmm, I don't mind."

"But I do," he said firmly, pushing her back onto her cot. She grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him into a kiss, and before he knew it, his fingers were tangled in that glorious hair and she was doing that _thing_ and –

He never could refuse her.

_If my life were important, I_

_Would ask, "Will I live or die?"_

She awoke screaming. Her mind shook off sleep, pulling her back into the real world – she was in Stormcage, there was nothing wrong, shut up, River; those stupid guards will be by any minute now –

"River!" And then he was holding her tightly, his thumb tracing circles down her spine as he buried his face in her hair. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here."

But that's what the nightmares were about, weren't they? She couldn't remember most of them, except that he was there and he was the reason she was so very afraid.

Afraid because she didn't know if she could be brave enough.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly into her wild curls. In answer she pulled him closer and shut her eyes, breathing in the way he smelled. She would never get tired of that scent. He smelled of the air after a rainstorm, which was comforting and just a little bit wild, and of sandalwood. Oh, that sandalwood drove her mad. "River…"

She didn't want to talk about it. "No," she mumbled into his shoulder. He tightened his arms around her.

"I have nightmares, too."

She jerked back, staring at him. "I never said anything about –"

His tired smile cut her off. He looked so sad. What had she done to make him so sad lately? "You didn't have to say a word. You've been crying, River."

Touching her cheeks lightly, she found to her dismay that he was correct. "Fine. Everyone gets the occasional bad dream."

"But they're not, are they?" His voice was quiet, and she could feel his eyes watching her, as if absorbing every movement she made. Normally she would be eating up the attention, but she had been crying, and he knew about the nightmares. "It's never just a bad dream when we lose someone we love."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I never said that, either, Sweetie."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember why she was so scared and so sad. It wasn't fair. She should at least know the reason for her humiliation.

Something warm and soft touched her lips, and he tipped her chin up to kiss her better. She nearly slapped him when his tongue ran over her bottom lip – what was he thinking? He always waited for her to take the lead – but just pulled away instead. "What are your nightmares about, then? Losing Wolfgirl again? Or Martha Jones? Or –" She spoke the next name reverently, almost afraid to say that name so praised on so many worlds, "– Donna Noble?"

She might as well have slapped him. "River…"

"I'm sorry," she looked away.

For a moment, he was silent. Then she heard it. Barely a whisper, little more than a breath, but he said it. "Yes… and you."

And suddenly, she knew exactly why he had been coming every night for the past month.

_But I know the answers lie far from this world_

If he had been on Gallifrey still, if she had been there when she, when she died for him, he could have put her in the Matrix, and then he'd be able to visit her.

But he wasn't on Gallifrey, and she'd never get the chance to see it now.

She turned abruptly, gold-green eyes wide with sudden understanding. "Me?" Her back hit the wall as she contemplated this. "You've just seen me die, then? Or leave you. Or go missing. When are you, then? Or, when am I to you? I must seem so stupid right now." She tried to smile at him, and he wanted to cry.

"No, River, that isn't it –"

"You've come every night for the past month. You've only visited during the day twice, and you didn't recall the night's adventure when you did come. You're sad, Doctor. But you don't ever cry when we can see you, do you? Not yet, anyway." She held his gaze, crawling closer, until her hair tickled his nose and he could feel her shaking. "What do I do?" she whispered. "Did I finally lose my mind? I suppose it's too late to ask you not to save me if I do, isn't it? Oh, tell me I didn't cry."

_She will be brave_, Amy had told him fiercely, _because she's my daughter. Because she's Rory's daughter. Because I love her, and because she always has to know that._

She was, Amy; she is, he wanted to tell her, but Amelia Pond was gone too. Amy and Rory both, and now River –

"Tell me I didn't cry," she pleaded. "I don't cry. I didn't cry, did I?"

Everything was ending. Everyone he loved was dying.

He needed her with him.

But he couldn't tell her about her future. And he hated himself, even as the word slithered out from between his teeth, dripped off his tongue.

"Spoilers."

_Close every door to me_

_Keep those I love from me_

"Of course." She forced a smile, dropping her eyes from his at last. "Why would you tell me? It would end horribly. I understand." She did.

She just wanted him to trust her enough to tell her why he was so very, very sad.

"River?"

She spun, throwing an arm out in front of the Doctor. "What, I'm not allowed to have visitors now? Come on, you let the psychotic serial killer down the hall have visitors!"

Her father stepped out from the shadows, looking slightly confused. "I, um, don't know what you're talking about." He spied the Doctor behind her and bristled. "Oi, what are you doing in there with my daughter?"

Her husband jumped up. "No, it's not what it looks like – well, only sort of – we're married!"

Rory reddened, averting his eyes. "Right. River, it's… it's Amy's birthday tomorrow, and, well, I wanted to do something for her, but she's expecting me to get her a card and that's all, and that would be pathetic, so I thought we could go do something for her together?"

She knew behind her he would be fiddling with his suspenders and looking around her cell. But he wouldn't tell her anything. "What did you have in mind?" She went to open the door.

And tugged at it in vain.

"Sweetie, let me out," she complained, tipping her head back to look at him upside down. He smiled and pointed the sonic at the door.

"Have fun." His voice was choked.

As daughter and father tapped in the coordinates on her vortex manipulator, she wondered if he had lost her parents too.

She resolved never to die if she could help it, because she didn't want to lose any time she had with him and her parents.

_Children of madness are never alone_

Alone again. It always ended like this, didn't it? Alone, always alone. The madman in the blue box, so lonely because he ended up killing everyone he loved.

He rummaged through the little box they'd let her keep various trinkets in. Mostly clothes and tools, for practical purposes – there it was. He pulled out her diary.

"You can't do that," he muttered to himself, and reluctantly set it back. She wouldn't be back tonight. Not for him. Rory would keep her busy, would make her smile, would make her forget her nightmares. Because he was her father, and he was a good man.

So he shrugged his formal coat back on and left for the TARDIS. It would ache inside, but he needed to go back to the Library.

He needed to read the final words of River Song.

_For I know I shall find_

_My own peace of mind_

The Library wasn't so bad, not really. Charlotte had given her a room of her own, a room full of history books to keep her occupied. As she read, she corrected, crossing out entire chapters and writing notes in the margins. Even if she would be the only one to ever read these – and some part of her knew she would – the familiar pastime gave her comfort.

"Archaeology," she could still hear him scoff.

A faint smile lifted the corners of her lips as she turned the page. When she was still on the outside, he would lean over the back of the armchair she was draped across and read over her shoulder, pointing out inconsistencies as she marked them out.

What she wouldn't give to see his shadow fall across the page of her book just then…

From outside with the other children, Charlotte screamed. In a flash, she was out the door, history books scattered in her wake, and kneeling beside the little girl. Charlotte had her eyes shut tight, and her breathing was quick, shallow. "What's wrong, Charlotte? Is someone else being saved?" To cause this reaction, the person would have to have centuries' worth of memories to store, millennia even. She tried to keep the hope from her voice. She wouldn't wish this existence on him, not if it meant he was dying.

The child shook her head. "No, there's someone in my Library, there's a strange man in my Library, and he's so sad, and angry, and he's going to hurt me -!"

Her heart pounding in her ears, she swallowed the surge of aching and pulled Charlotte into a tight hug. "It's okay. Let me see him; I'll make him go away."

_For I have been promised_

_A land of my own_

Eyes wide, he spun at the crackling of a screen come to life. His expression softened when he saw the face of the frightened little girl. "Hello, CAL. I've just come for a book. I'm allowed to check out a book since this is a Library, right?"

CAL ducked her head and tugged a woman into view, whispering something in a small, scared voice. His hearts stopped when he saw the woman kneel to meet his eyes.

"River –"

She looked so young, so tired, and so alone. Her green eyes studied him; then she turned to the child. "Charlotte, I've told you before that it isn't funny to play tricks on people."

"It's not a trick!" CAL protested, pointing at him desperately. "He's real and he's in my Library! You said you'd make him go away, River!"

Her eyes lit up. "What do you mean, it's not –"

"That's alright," he interrupted, slipping her diary into his tweed pocket and turning away to go. The heavy, hollow ache in his chest hurt too much. "I was just going."

"No!" He stopped. "No, if you're real this time, don't leave."

Don't turn around, he tried to convince himself; you'll just see her standing there in that white dress, all soft curls and wide eyes, and you don't need any more pain. Don't turn around.

He turned around.

"Please," she breathed, and from the way she looked at him he knew she had been alone in the mainframe for far too long. She wasn't seeing him. She was memorizing him. She wet her lips, pressing her hand to the screen. "Don't… don't go yet."

"I can't stay here, River."

"I know." She met his eyes, almost pleading. "I – I never got to tell you. I love you." Words spilled from her mouth, words she must have kept reciting over and over in her head, carrying on pretend conversations with him, making believe she would get the chance to see him again. She told him about Charlotte – CAL – and the children that the girl had imagined as friends to keep her company. She told him about the bedtime stories she told those children. She told him about a room with a tall ceiling and books lining the walls, and the endless hours she spent there alone, curled up in an armchair that was too big for her, and her pen marks correcting the errors in all those books –

By the time she had run out of words and could only stand before him breathlessly, tears were streaming down his face. "River Song," he whispered. "Melody Pond. River, I swear, I will get you out of there –"

"You can't take her away." CAL stared at him in fear. "Who's going to tell us how to fight the Daleks and the Angels and the Silence and the shadows if you take her away? Who's going to tell us about the towers that sing lullabies and the villain in the cupboard and the magician who ran away in a box?" She grabbed hold of River's hand, giving him a fiercely protective look. "Who's going to save us from the monsters?"

And just like that, he was scrabbling to pull together the pieces of his hearts. "You're… you're a mum," he tried to smile.

"Oh, don't say that," she shook her head, pressing a palm to the screen, as if she could touch him if she tried hard enough. "I'm just a storyteller here." A sad smile danced over her lips. "A storyteller in one world, a story in the other. Don't forget me, Sweetie."

How could he? How could he ever forget her?

She stood. She was going to walk away from him. "River, don't go," he begged, slamming his fists against the screen. "River! Listen to me, River!"

CAL glanced over her shoulder fearfully. His wife, his beautiful, brave wife, the storyteller, bent down and whispered something in the child's ear. The little girl nodded.

Then she sat down. "She's going to play with her friends," she offered by way of explanation, and her calm drove a stake through his chest.

"River," he murmured. His forehead dropped onto the screen. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry… it's supposed to be like the Matrix, you know."

"The bad movie from the 1990s?" she teased, and when he opened his eyes she was right there, close enough to wrap in his arms and carry away if there hadn't been a screen between them.

He gave a short laugh, wiping his eyes. "No, the preservation system on Gallifrey. But there aren't any Time Lords with you. And I can't… the only way to get you out would be to –" He wasn't sure he wanted to finish that sentence. He thought of the Master, and his flawed resurrection thanks to Lucy Saxon. He had plenty of his wife's DNA left over from the clothes he still had on the floor of their bedroom, their sheets, her hairbrush… and the biometric imprint would be no problem for him.

But all he could see when he tried to convince himself it might be possible was the Master's distorted appearance and his insatiable craving for living flesh.

He would never turn her into a creature like that.

She smiled, looking away. "I understand. It's okay, Sweetie." A short laugh tore from her throat, and she covered her face with her hands. "I don't even know how long it's been since I said that."

"Too long." His wife was trapped.

Please, save me from the monsters, the children of the universe cried out, but she only ever stood silently and bore it.

Why couldn't he ever save the people he loved?

"You didn't come to see me, did you?"

He jerked, as if she had slapped him. "What?"

Her fingertips brushed her side of the screen lightly. "You were going to leave without letting me know you had come, because you didn't want to hurt me." She was quiet for a moment. "But it's better this way. I know you have to go now; you've still got me somewhere out there. I'll be fine."

Why should you let them be happy now if they're only going to be sad later?

"No, you won't," he said quietly. He pressed his hand to the screen over hers, knowing it was the closest he would get to touching her here.

She met his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

The answer is, of course, because they're going to be sad later.

_Just give me a number_

_Instead of my name_

"Thanks," Rory whispered, closing the door to the bedroom he shared with Amy. "I think she's going to be very upset. But we'll get some great pictures."

"Mum, not appreciating a classic alarm clock replacement?" She gave him a cheeky grin. "She's going to ground us both."

Father and daughter scurried down the stairs, and he turned on the webcam they'd set up in the room. "Okay, so. Waiting. I can wait. I waited two thousand years for her to wake up; I can wait a few minutes, right?"

"For a Roman centurion, patience isn't coming naturally to you right now," she teased. "Shall I speed things up a bit?"

His eyes widened. "No, don't -!"

She hit play. Abruptly the upbeat sounds of Cyndi Lauper shot through the entire house, and on the webcam, Amy leapt a foot off the bed.

As soon as she moved, the string of firecrackers started going off.

"Quick, quick, start the screenshot sequence!" she hissed excitedly, shoving her dad over to the computer. He rapidly tapped a few buttons, and when he grinned up at her, they had their backup blackmail photos.

"Oh Daddy dear, you know you're still number one! But girls, we wanna have fun!" sang the speakers. The two conspirators traded mischievous grins.

Upstairs, Amy was screaming over the deafening sound of exploding firecrackers and Cyndi Lauper's crooning. "_Rory Williams!_ I am going to _kill_ you!"

"Not in front of our daughter, dear!" he shouted up the stairs.

"Melody Pond, you are in _so_ much trouble!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. "I'm already in jail, Mother dear; how much more trouble can I get in?"

Amy came staggering down the stairs, holding a long chain of firecrackers. "That's a question I am very happy to answer," she scowled. "What is the meaning of this?"

They looked at each other sheepishly. "Happy birthday?"

She threw the burnt-out firecrackers at them. "Normal people get breakfast in bed, not exploding alarm clocks."

"Well… we tried making breakfast for you," Rory began, rubbing the back of his neck and reddening, "but it sort of ended badly, because I burnt the bacon and River can't crack eggs properly –"

"Oi! I can too! They just weren't cooperating!"

"– so we did something else instead."

"What did you do?" Amy narrowed her eyes.

"Come see!" She grabbed her mother's hands and pulled her into the living room, thick blonde curls bouncing around her face. Putting her hands on her hips, she watched with an eager smile as her mother stared at the room. "Do you like it?"

"It's… did you steal this?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No! It was a present, really."

Sunflowers were everywhere – strewn over the floor, tucked into vases on the side tables, laid across the top of the television. And in the middle of the room on a display easel was Vincent van Gogh's original _Sunflowers_ painting, complete with his dedication for her. "This is beautiful, absolutely beautiful," Amy turned, pulling her husband and her daughter into a hug.

That was when the front door burst open. "Dr. Song, you'll be coming with us," a gruff voice called.

She spun. "Oh, no," she muttered. "Stay here, alright?"

Rory grabbed her arm. "How did they find you?"

"426!" the voice barked. "We know you're here!" They were getting closer.

Amy looked furious. "That's all you are to them? A number? I'd like to give them a piece of my mind about calling _my_ –"

A tall man stomped into the room. His body armor only added to his enormous size. She must look tiny standing next to him, she thought as she fiddled uselessly with her vortex manipulator.

"There you are," he growled, seizing a fistful of her hair. "I hope you understand how much trouble I'm in for letting you escape like that."

"Don't touch the hair," she hissed, jerking her knee up sharply. Gasping in pain, the man dropped his gun.

He let go of her hair.

"Thank you." She held her head high. Her parents wouldn't see her so humiliated. "Now then, when do you want me back in my cell?"

He snorted. "_Now_."

"Suit yourself." She pressed the last button on the leather strap around her wrist, and with a fizzing spark she was back in Stormcage. She shut her eyes, resting her head on the wall behind her and mentally throwing herself repeatedly against a wall for letting them catch her.

She hoped her mother had a nice birthday.

_Forget all about me_

_And let me decay_

The wall of the TARDIS was cold against the back of his head as he turned another page in her diary. She'd used it for more than just her meetings with him – there were the meetings with her parents, and there were catalogues from various archaeology digs she'd been on, and every so often there was a page that simply had a rule scribbled down.

He stopped, because there on the page between his fingers was a doodle. If there was anything he knew about her, it was that Professor River Song did not doodle. Yet there it was, right there on the page, an absent-minded little thing she'd probably done during one boring meeting or another.

A little ink scribbling of him.

He had a wide grin, he was waving, and his bowtie was crooked. She'd even drawn him with a fez. A faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Beside it, she'd written, "It isn't fair, really. Nobody should be able to smile that way and get whatever he wants."

She could do the same to him. She knew it, too. He closed the book and held it close, breathing in that faint scent of her that still lingered with it.

He could see her whenever he wanted, at whatever point in her timestream he wanted, right now. That would go away soon, he knew. So he'd check back in with her where he'd left her, and then he could go back to the Library, research ways to overcome that taunting screen between them.

When he stepped out of the TARDIS into her cell, she was asleep. He knelt beside her, watching the steady rhythm of her breathing. The moonlight crept in through the miniscule window and tapped out highlights in her hair. She was so… River.

He pressed his lips fiercely to her forehead, and he turned to go.

"Mmm…" He froze, fingertips on the door of the TARDIS. He could hear her roll over on her cot as she further entangled herself in the scratchy prison blanket. "Don't…"

He wet his lips. "Don't what?" he whispered without turning around.

For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to answer. Then he heard her move in her sleep again, and she breathed, "Don't leave. Don't forget me…"

He sat beside her, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. "Never."

_I do not matter_

_I'm only one person_

His voice drifted in between her dreams, and she struggled to follow it. She could hear what he was saying, but he wasn't making any sense.

"I had a friend who – you remember Clara, don't you? – she asked me once if other people are just ghosts to me. I suppose I understand what she meant. I've watched everyone I love die, but I can still go back to the times I had with them… with you."

What was he talking about? She spun around, arms outstretched as she stumbled through the dark toward the echoes of his voice.

"I made a promise to your mother that I would find you, take care of you. I couldn't do that when you were small, and now you're all grown up and you won't let me."

You never ask, you just assume, she wanted to cry indignantly, and I don't need taking care of. I can take care of myself. She hit a wall with a sickening crack, staggered away. Gingerly touching her chin, she felt something thick and wet. Blood. Of course. What else? Perhaps she'd broken her jaw. It certainly hurt badly enough.

"And I didn't even know that when I met you… you listened to your mother, even as a baby. She told you to be brave." She could hear him smiling to himself with sad memories. "She didn't know how brave you would be – you are."

Where are you, she tried to call out, I can't see; where are you, where are you?

"I hope you know that… I'm going back to see you once you wake up. I promise, I'll get you out of there."

She hoped he wasn't lying to her. She wanted out of this lightless labyrinth. Something touched her shoulder, a cold, familiar, consciously forgotten feeling of leathery skin and static electricity. "He is afraid of you," the resonating voice whispered in her ear. This was the voice of childhood nightmares. "You are the reason there is ice in his heart. I have been inside his head."

She couldn't even scream because she had broken her stupid jaw.

And sometimes, a scream is all one has.

_Destroy me completely_

_Then throw me away_

As he smoothed her hair away from her face – smoothed? No; her hair was far too unruly to ever consent to being smoothed anywhere – something tickled at his mind. Curiosity pricked his fingertips. Asleep, she didn't have any guards set up around her mind.

Actually, if the growing sense of someone scrabbling frantically at a door was any help, she was trying to get out.

He shut his eyes, gently probing for whatever was sending her into such a state of panic. At his mental touch, she instantly withdrew, and he found himself walled out once again.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes popped open. He jerked his hand away from her, trying to look innocent. Groggily, she pulled herself into a sitting position using his suspenders. "Just – sitting here."

"Why?" She was scraping herself back together, out of sleep. If he was going to extract the source of her terror he had to do it now.

He took her hands in his, meeting her eyes. "Because, River. When you love someone, you don't let her be alone when she needs you."

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing. "Get out, get out, stop that, what if you –?"

"Shh." He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers. The fleeting tendrils of terror recoiled as he reached for them, and as they slipped from the fingers of his mind he wrapped his arms around her tighter. "Let me _help_ you, River!" he mumbled in frustration.

"I don't need help," she insisted, and she squirmed away from him, eyes daring him to try invading her mind again. "I can take care of myself."

"And everyone around you," he shot back, his chest heaving with all the emotion he couldn't show her yet. "And those who don't even know you. And those you'll never meet, and those you've only heard of in songs of praise across galaxies, and those you've only known a short time, and those you never even had the chance to know. You're impossible, River Song; impossible and so – so –" He dropped his head into his hands.

"What good have I ever done?" she said softly, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "I've killed you, and I've killed others. What have I done to warrant anything you're saying? I am the only person I would trust myself with, Doctor, because I am the only one who could possibly realize exactly how much I'm worth to this universe."

"No." He ran a hand through her hair, and he tried to smile for her. "You're the only one in the entire universe who would defend others, who would give up so much, who would make the monsters go away because you believe it's the right thing to do."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. "No, that's you. I'm nothing like that."

"Maybe not now, you don't think." He kissed her forehead and stood. "But someday…"

"Where are you off to now, Sweetie?" She swung her legs over the side of her cot, as if ready to follow him. He knew if he asked, she _would_ follow him.

To the death.

"I have a promise to keep," he smiled. "But I'll see you soon."

"You'd better," she shook her head as she watched him go.

He closed the door to the TARDIS. "We're going back to the Library after we stop by Anamnesis," he told his magnificent box. "I need to try something."

Some days are better than others. Some days, ideas strike in a torrent, a flurry of sheer genius. Some days, one can save the day. Some days, everything turns out alright.

_If my life were important, I_

_Would ask, "Will I live or die?"_

_But I know the answers lie far from this world_

"River?"

She froze, flushing, and turned to see Charlotte in the door of her history room. "…how long have you been standing there?"

The little girl giggled. "Long enough to see you dancing 'round like Miss Anita and Mr. Dave, 'cept you don't have a partner."

"Oh, now I do." She grabbed Charlotte, tickling her sides and making her shriek with laughter, and pulled her into the dance.

Charlotte's laughter came harder and harder, until they both collapsed on the floor in a fit of mirth. "Why," Charlotte gasped through her giggles, "why are you so happy? You're never like this unless you're reading the stories; you're all serious and a professor and history!"

She rolled onto her stomach, blowing her hair from her face as she tried to think of a way to explain it. "You know how there are certain people who make you smile, Charlotte?"

The child nodded.

"And have you ever had to let them go for a while?"

Reluctantly, Charlotte nodded again.

"Then they come back, and they promise they won't leave, not forever." She rested her chin in her hands, and as she lay there on her stomach, swinging her legs in the air like a schoolgirl, she closed her eyes and smiled. "And suddenly the world is so much brighter, and so much bigger, and so much more beautiful than you'd thought before."

"Is he coming back, then?" Charlotte jumped up, fetching the battered blue book that had been the source of many bedtime stories. "He was the magician in the blue box, wasn't he? And I made him go away." She looked so sad. "I'm sorry, River. I made him go away and he was your magician."

"No." She took the book, set it on the floor. Tipping Charlotte's chin up to meet her eyes, she said seriously, "No one ever makes him do anything. What he does, he does because he wants to."

Charlotte looked indignant. "He wanted to leave you?"

"He had to." She smiled. "But he'll be back. He always comes back."

Some days are better than others.

_Close every door to me_

_Keep those I love from me_

The image in his hands, extracted from every memory he had of her, was the manifestation of radiance. She sat in the door of his TARDIS, bare legs dangling out into the vastness of space as she hugged his shirt around her. Her hair framed her face in loose golden curls, just the way she looked when she woke up in the mornings next to him, and her eyes…

Archaeologist's eyes. River's eyes. Green, yes; but she was a child of the TARDIS, and there was an unmistakable glint of gold suspiciously like that of the Time Vortex that lingered like the echo of a reflection in her eyes. She could pinpoint the date of an artifact with those eyes. She could start a war with those eyes – had, once, actually; on the planet of Hwi'iko. Full of knowledge, and bittersweet curiosity, and fire, and overwhelming love.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the stone with the image. Anamnesis was a wonderful planet. They'd owed him a favor, and he promised them this would more than make up for it.

All he had to do was coax her into listening long enough to explain.

When he stepped out into the Library, the screen had been activated. Three laughing children – Charlotte among them – played a short distance away. "Green light!" Charlotte shouted, and the other two sprinted toward her. "Red light!" The little boy bared his teeth and pretended to roar, speeding up. "Red light means stop," Charlotte told him seriously.

"I'm a Weeping Angel and I'm gonna eat all your time energy! Lights don't stop me," he insisted. "That's the Vashta Nerada! Didn't you even pay attention to River's stories?"

"I did too! Angels can't play red light, green light because they cheat!"

"Guys?" The other little girl was watching him. She poked her friends. "Is that him? Is that the mad magician in the blue box? He's got a bowtie on!"

Charlotte shoved her. "Go get River! Ian and I can make sure he stays here," she hissed, probably thinking she was being quiet.

He hid a smile, gripping the image tighter. "Hello, Charlotte!" he called out, hearts pounding at the thought of what he could do with the stone slab in his hands.

"Hi!" she waved. The little girl and the little boy ran over to the screen, faces flushed from playing. "You came back quick."

"Just a short trip," he said dismissively. "Had to get a present for my wife, didn't I?"

"Lemme see!" they chorused, clamoring to get a look at the image he held.

He turned it to show them.

They were quiet a moment. "River doesn't look like that," the boy said finally. "She doesn't wear shirts without _pants_."

He laughed as Charlotte elbowed her friend. "She does too, just only when she's goin' to sleep and not around _boys_ 'cause that's not appropriate!"

"He's a boy," insisted the little boy. "An' you just said –"

"They're married," Charlotte hissed. That shut him up. "Right?" She turned to him, seeking affirmation.

"Yes." He let his eyes drop to the image, a smile flickering over his face. "Yes, we are…"

The children were quiet, whispering to each other and shuffling. Odd, he thought; children were so bright, so full of life and questions. Something must be wrong. He jerked his head up, ready to do whatever the situation required –

"Hello, Sweetie." She'd missed saying those words, he could tell. She smiled, blowing a kiss and sitting cross-legged in front of him, eyes bright. "You came back."

"Couldn't stay away," he said softly, drinking in the sight of her there. "I just left you… back in Stormcage. You wouldn't let me take your nightmares from you –"

"Because they're mine and mine alone," she interrupted, meeting his eyes. "You didn't need any more of me tangled in your thoughts." She crooked an eyebrow up with a flirty little smirk. "I try to manage that on my own."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. And he cried, setting the stone slab down beside him. "River," he choked out, and his idea came spilling out of him in a torrent of hope and worry and love and fear and, yes, even desire.

When he was finished, she had her hands over her mouth as she stared at him in disbelief. "You're utterly mad," she said at last. "You mad, impossible man. What would you do if it were to fail? What if I'm not – if I'm not –" She stood, pacing worriedly.

"Not what?"

"Not – _enough_," she cried, flinging her arms out wide. "I can't let you."

"River Song, scared?" His voice was quiet as a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Never."

_Children of madness_

_Are never alone_

She stared at him, chest rising and falling with her suddenly quickening breath. "Sweetie, you know perfectly well Anamnesis tech has only ever worked with bringing back – with bringing back objects, inanimate things, like a child's teddy bear lost in a fire, or a man's stolen wedding ring, or something like that."

"Ah," he lifted the smooth stone slab and held it out for her to study, "but I cheated and went ahead to when it does."

"Did they confirm it?"

He nodded, watching her as she looked at the image plucked from his mind.

Her vision started to blur. "That's… that's how you remember me, after all this time?"

"River," he said softly, "yes. No guns, remember?"

She laughed and wiped at her eyes. "I remember. No guns here, either. I got into a bit of trouble for that. Ended up in the data core prison for a little while." She trailed off, remembering how dark it was. When Charlotte had finally convinced them to let her out, telling them "it wasn't River's fault 'cause guns are her favorite, that's all," the light had nearly blinded her.

She wondered if this was the way he always saw her, against a backdrop of stars, her tired old diary held tight like some kind of treasure.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she knew it was. "This is insane, you know. One or both of us could… not survive."

"It would be me." His voice was quiet, serious. "And I've set up the TARDIS to take me inside if I did. Either way, I could touch you again, River."

A touch.

A breath.

A kiss.

It almost scared her how much the ache to be in the same physical space as he was swallowed her whole, tore open the void in her ribcage again.

Every now and then, Amy had told her once, he has these mad ideas.

I know, she'd laughed.

Amy shook her head. And you think he's gone completely off his rocker, mad as a bag of spanners, but there's that tiny piece of your mind crying in your ear that maybe, just maybe, it's mad enough to work, her mother had said with animated gestures. So you have to take a leap of faith, and trust that he'll catch you. Know what I mean?

I do, she said, and now she could hear the thrumming in her ears of her fear, and the all-consuming ache.

She needed to jump.

So she closed her eyes. "What do I have to do from this end?"

_For we know we shall find_

_Our own peace of mind_

His face lit up. "Stand right there," he said, "put your hand on the screen, and think."

She opened one eye. "Of what?"

He spun around, giddy at the thought of having her back soon. "Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings!"

She laughed and shook her head. "You're mad!"

"All the best people are," he smiled.

He caught himself before he tapped her nose.

"Really though, just think. I'm wiring the image into CAL's circuitry, and when it picks up on a mind, a soul that matches the one the image is expressing, the two will merge –"

"So you're trying to put me into a picture?" She dropped her hands to her sides, stepping back with her jaw set. "This is better than being reduced to a painting drawn from your memories, Sweetie. At least in here I feel real, still, and not made of little more than paint and idle wishes."

"No, River; the two will _merge_," he insisted, stung, "the image is meant to give physical form to something precious that has been lost, by rebuilding it exactly the way it is supposed to be. Your mind, your soul, back in your body." He spun around once, unable to keep the grin from his face.

This would work.

It had to work.

"Are you thinking?" he called as he cut and spliced wires.

"Yes," he could almost hear her roll her eyes and hide that smile of hers. As he readied the last of the wires, his fingers trembled.

If this didn't work –

But it would, because he had promised her.

He closed his eyes and joined the wires.

When he turned to watch her, to see if it was working, her brow was knit deeply in concentration, both palms pressed to the screen. The image was giving off heat, and he could almost feel her hands on his shoulders now, her fingers kneading into his shoulder blades as she concentrated and tried to slip through the gap to come back to him. Keep touching, keep touching, he wanted to whisper, but he couldn't risk breaking her train of thought. On the screen, she was flickering in and out. What was holding her back? What was keeping her there?

"River?"

Her eyes snapped open, and just like that the connection was broken. The ghostly after-feelings of her hands lingered with him, painfully chilled. She spun, and he saw a flash of guilt dance across her expression. "Charlotte…"

The child's eyes were wide with hurt. "I could feel – you were going to leave, you were going to _leave_ and not come back – because of him –" She broke down into tears and threw herself into his wife's arms.

He met her eyes over the dark little head, and her expression said everything. "It's okay," he smiled, vision blurring slightly. "I can always visit, can't I?"

She nodded silently and hugged Charlotte tighter. When the little girl let go at last, reassured that she wouldn't leave her, Charlotte gave him a hurt look and darted off.

She stood, not facing him. "It's okay," she echoed him faintly. "I'm supposed to be here now. There's nothing you can do."

"Unless I die." The words left his lips in a fierce whisper.

"No." She whirled to see him, jaw set with determination. "Don't you dare waste your life for me. The universe needs a hero, needs _you_."

"Please, River." He scrubbed at his face, her resignation only fueling the burning ache in his chest. "Please, just try again, for me! There has to be something I can do for you!"

"There is," she said, her fingertips lightly skimming the screen. He had felt those hands touch him, briefly, lingeringly… "Don't forget me, Sweetie. Remember me. Don't ever be alone. And…" She bit her lip.

She was going to say "come back." He could feel the unspoken plea hanging in the air between the real and the digital, and he wondered if she would finally give in, finally let him know how much she was hurting.

But she didn't.

"I love you," she said simply. And then, in a whispered breath, she sealed the truth of those words with his secret.

She spoke his name.

He gently picked up the image, now unfettered from the wires, and wrapped his arms around it, watching her as her eyes dropped and she worked steadily to pull herself together and keep him from seeing the damage.

"River Song," he said, voice low. "I will always come back."

He couldn't work his voice to say those three tiny words in return.

Some days are better than others.

_For we have been promised_

_A land of our own…_


End file.
